Proving A Negative
by muted hitokiri
Summary: AU COTBP: Will frees Jack without declaring his love, and Elizabeth marries Norrington. Set roughly 18 months after Jack and Will escape, Will returns to Port Royal to make Elizabeth an offer. Norribeth with some Willabeth thrown in. Oneshot.


When she sees him, she is overcome. He's standing by her writing desk, leaning back on it as a roguish smile creeps across his handsome face. Behind him, the open window lets in a light breeze, making the lace curtains billow. A long scar mars one cheek and he looks older, more sophisticated than he was, but he's still unmistakably Will and oh, she's so pleased to see him! She shrieks with joy as she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his neck in an embrace that nearly topples them both. Laughing at her exuberance, he holds her close, murmuring her name into her hair and assuring her that he is pleased to see her, too.

She wants to know everything: Where he's been, what he's done, how the crew of the Black Pearl are getting on, whether Jack's still as mad as ever, everything. It seems silly to sit up here in her dark sewing room on such a lovely day, so she proposes that they move down into the gardens – her roses are truly exceptional at the moment – but he declines with an odd look in his eye. Undaunted, she suggests the conservatory instead, but he tells her that he thinks it best if they remain where they are. His eyes never leaving hers, he takes her hands to pull her down next to him on the window seat, and she does not resist. After all, she has not seen her childhood companion since he disappeared over the parapet 18 months ago. What does it matter where they talk?

And they do talk. Will answers her questions in as much detail as he can, since she will settle for nothing less. For over a year, he sailed with Jack and the _Pearl_, learning all he could of ships, navigation and the mysteries of the sea. Then, a few months ago, they took a small pirate ship which had strayed into Jack's territory, and Jack awarded the captaincy to Will. Probably he was tired of the constant second-guessing and stubborn refusal to pillage innocent merchants, Will suggests with a laugh. Elizabeth laughs, too, imagining the scene: No matter where Will's blood comes from, he will always be far too moral to be a proper pirate. She suspects that his mother must have been quite the upstanding lady. Instead, he has obtained a privateer's commission and now makes his living in the service of the Crown.

"Of course," he adds, a shadow passing over his face, "I had to bribe a clerk to make sure Norrington didn't see my name."

"But why?" Elizabeth is confused. "I'm sure James would have granted you a commission if you'd asked, and one for Jack, if he wanted." She can't help but notice the way his face darkens at her easy use of her husband's name.

"Really?" he asks, unable to completely hide the hardness in his voice. "Then I defer to your superior knowledge of the man. Personally, I wouldn't have thought he would be so willing to welcome me back to Port Royal."

Elizabeth isn't quite sure what to say to that, because she suspects she knows what he means and hopes she is wrong. There is a moment of awkward silence as she looks away, not wanting to look at him for fear of giving away her thoughts.

"Elizabeth," he murmurs, sensing her discomfort. Gently, he reaches up to turn her face towards him, and she finds herself staring into dark, dark eyes. They are close now, so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek, much too close for comfort. Elizabeth finds herself instinctively wanting to pull away, but she doesn't, because then he'll be hurt, and this is _Will_, dear, sweet Will, and she can't bear to hurt him.

"Elizabeth-?" The familiar voice startles her and she turns towards it, grateful for the distraction, but her joyful greeting wilts on her tongue at the sight of him. James is standing in the open doorway, staring at them. For a moment, all is still as he takes in the sight before him. His beautiful young wife, curled up in a darkened room, with the hand of the young man she very publicly loved still hovering at her throat. His eyes go wide with horror, and the anguished look he gives her as misguided realisation dawns pierces her very core. She wants to go to him, soothe away his fears, but she can't move. She's frozen, pinned in place by the wretchedness etched on his face. All she can do is watch as he struggles to retrieve that iron self-possession which serves him so well in public life, and which he has never once brought into their home. He is half undressed, she realises suddenly, his wig and swordbelt already set aside for the day, and somehow, that makes it worse. Devoid of the protection of his weapon and office, he is vulnerable, defenceless against them. Her heart breaks for him as he is finally able to summon a shred of composure.

"I- I apologise," he stammers, sounding as though he can barely breathe. "I should have knocked." He turns sharply on his heel and marches off, defaulting to military discipline when all else fails. As he disappears, the spell is broken.

"James!" she cries after him. "James, wait!" She leaps up, desperate to make him stop and _understand_, but as she tries to run after him, she finds herself blocked. It takes her a moment to realise that something is holding her back.

"Will!" she shrieks furiously, turning on him. "What are you doing?! Let go!" She tugs frantically at her wrist, but Will's grasp is firm. He doesn't answer.

"Come with me," he says instead, voice low.

"What are you talking about?" she demands, still trying to free herself. All she can think of is James's face as he apologised, grief and betrayal and resignation, all melted into a single gut wrenching misery. She feels as though she will suffocate if she cannot go to him and stroke the pain away, but Will does not let go.

"The _Liberty_ is moored in a small cove near here," he tells her urgently, gesturing to the open window. "Let's go!"

She stares at him in surprise as she realises what he means. He wants her to run away with him, join his crew and sail the seas with him. He's offering her freedom, the open horizon, everything they ever talked about. For a moment, she stops struggling out of pure shock. He is watching her with dark, intent eyes, his body tense, as though poised for flight the minute she gives her word.

"What?" she snaps. "No! Don't be stupid!" What he is suggesting is ridiculous, juvenile, a child's daydream. Impossible, and unwelcome.

"Why is that stupid?" Will demands heatedly, eyes blazing. "You used to talk of nothing else!"

"_Used to_, Will!" she yells, furious that he still won't let go. "I was a child, I knew nothing about anything! It was all just fantasy!" He looks at her, hurt and uncomprehending, and she is sorry for a moment, but not hurting Will is no longer a priority. Somewhere downstairs is James, and he is in pain, and with that, nothing else seems to matter.

She is relieved to hear no booted footsteps following her as she dashes down the corridor.

**

He is halfway across the garden when she finally catches sight of him, walking briskly towards the back gate. He ignores her calls, so she lifts up her skirts and chases after him, deftly stepping around the rabbit holes as the dry grass brushes at her ankles. Part of her hopes she will trip and fall, obliging him to turn and help her, but she is far too nimble for that, and she reaches him without incident. He is still refusing to acknowledge her pleas, so she is left with no option. Panting in the heat, she reaches out for him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling back hard, forcing him to turn and face her or risk unbalancing both of them.

"James!"

He turns, as she knew he would, and stands glaring at her, furious humiliation burning in his eyes. Desperately, she wracks her brain for the words to make him understand, but they refuse to come. She aches to touch him, hold him close and assure him that nothing, _nothing_ could ever make her betray him, but she doesn't dare. His face is closed off and the look he gives her is cold, so cold it sends a shiver down her spine in spite of the heat. She is afraid that if she reaches out for him now he will refuse her, and she doesn't think she could bear that.

"James-" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"How long?" he demands, spitting out the words as though they are poison in his mouth, and suddenly, she is furious. At him, at Will, at the world at large. It consumes her, and she does not even try to hold back.

"How dare you?" she screams. "How _dare_ you? I have been nothing but a faithful wife to you since the day we were wed. I have never even looked at another man, and yet you stand here accusing me? Because I had the audacity to accept a visit from an old friend without consulting you?"

He stares at her in shock, and Elizabeth realises that she is breathing hard. Silence settles heavily in the wake of her outburst, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

"I'm sorry," James says finally, unable to look at her. "You have always been a dutiful wife, Elizabeth, and I have no grounds to accuse you. I had no right." He speaks quietly, eyes on the ground, broad, strong shoulders slumped in resignation, and despite his words, she knows that all is not right between them. All has never been right between them, not quite, and nothing she does ever seems to change that. To her great annoyance, she finds tears of frustration welling up in her eyes, because she has been trying so hard, for so long, to tear down this invisible wall between them, but even after all this time, she has barely managed to make a dent, because she has no way to prove a negative.

"How long?" she asks, mirroring him, unable to keep the stupid, girlish tears completely out of her voice. "How long do you intend to punish me?" Her question catches him off guard, and he looks at her quizzically, not sure what she means.

"How long will you keep punishing me?" she repeats, holding onto her earlier anger to keep from crying. "How long will you hold against me a friendship I had when I was fifteen?"

James is taken aback.

"I- I would never…" he begins shakily, and then seems to pull himself together.

"It was not my intention to make you feel punished," he tells her, his tightly controlled voice belied by the emotion etched on his face. "I simply have no wish to try to claim what can never be truly mine. I know you love him. You have always loved him."

She wants to hit her husband and embrace him all at once. Hit him, because for such a quick-witted man he can be so very _stupid_ at times, and embrace him, because the misery that fills his beautiful eyes as he forces himself to say those last words reaches inside her and squeezes her chest to the point where she is sure she will suffocate if she cannot make it go away. Hitting him will do no good, though, and this last year has taught her that no amount of kisses can ever truly take away his pain. She settles for yelling at him instead.

"Love him? How can you-? I don't even _know_ him! I love _you_!" she cries desperately, willing him to know it is the truth, but the determined set of his jaw, the stubborn glint in his eye tells her that the battle is lost before it has even begun. How many times has she tried to persuade him of the truth of that one little phrase? And how many times has he accepted her words, only to quietly dismiss them as beautiful lies, or at best, half-truths? A horrible sense of defeat overwhelms her, as it occurs to her that she may have to spend her life with a man who will never accept the depths of her love for him. And then, just as hopelessness begins to settle in, an idea occurs.

"When you were a boy, a youth," she begins carefully, trying out the words as she speaks them, "did you never have a fondness for someone? A friend of your sister's, a pretty scullery maid?"

"I- Well, of course I did," he replies after a minute. His voice is hesitant, and he seems uncertain as to where she is leading him.

"Good," she presses on. "What was her name?"

"Cecily Arlington."

"And how did you know Cecily? What did she look like?" Truth be told, Elizabeth isn't entirely sure she wants to know the details of James's early affections, but it is necessary: She needs him to remember this girl in detail, to fully recall the role she played in his life.

"Tell me everything," she prompts fiercely, when he looks at her as though she is mad.

"Well, I suppose, if you truly want to know…?" he begins, and she nods sharply, once.

"She was the sister of a boyhood friend of mine, a couple of years older than us, I think. I met her when I went to spend the summer at their family's house in Cornwall. I would have been about fifteen, I suppose. She had thick dark hair and the brightest blue eyes you ever saw. I was quite smitten with her."

"And then what happened? Did you see her again?"

"We exchanged a few letters after the summer ended, as I recall. I saw her once or twice at balls in London some years later, but I don't believe we ever spoke."

"And now?" Elizabeth demands sharply. "Do you still long for her now? Does her memory still haunt you day and night? Do you dream of her? Do you imagine her in my place when you touch me? Do you wish it was her name on your lips instead of mine when you whisper it into my neck?"

He looks as though he is now convinced she really has gone mad.

"Of course not, don't be absurd!" he snaps, affronted. "That was years ago, I was only a boy. I hadn't even thought about her since leaving England, not until you brought her up. You are all I want."

"Well then?" she asks, her voice softening as she takes a step towards him. "Why is it so very difficult for you to believe that I no longer think of Will? That I have no reason to think of him, and that you are all I want?"

His eyes widen in astonishment as he realises what she is trying to make him understand, but deep-seated beliefs are hard to shake. James finds himself grappling with the tattered remains, unable to quite let go.

"I- That was different," he tries weakly. "I never loved Cecily, but you… You and Will grew up together. I remember the two of you running around the Fort, you were inseparable for years!"

Elizabeth nods.

"It is different," she acknowledges, because she has no choice. "But that doesn't mean that it's not also the same. I care for Will, deeply. He was my childhood playmate, my confidant for several years, and for that he will always have a place in my heart. But I have never loved him, not in the way that I love you. How could I? Since I was sixteen and began to find myself interested in things besides pirates and forts, I have spoken to him perhaps a dozen times. It is true that, at one stage, I fancied myself in love with him, but it was a girlish infatuation, nothing more. How can I love a man I don't know?"

He is staring down at her with wide eyes. On his face, she sees doubt, but underneath it, a wild, desperate hope that she just might telling him the truth. He looks so exposed, suddenly, and Elizabeth can no longer bear to be separated from him. She reaches up to rest her hands on his chest, feeling him give a slight involuntary shiver at the contact.

"James, my darling James," she whispers, raising her face up close to his, so close that she can feel his breath on her lips. "You are my husband, my lover, my mate. You are more to me than I ever believed possible, and I love you. I love you."

The tears she has given up fighting are running down her cheeks now, causing a slight tremor in her voice as she repeats the words over and over, pressing gentle kisses to his face. For a moment, he remains stiff and unyielding under her touch, and then, all at once, his resolve seems to crack and he crumbles, pulling her into a fierce embrace as he breathes her name into her hair. She presses herself against him, wanting to feel his heart beat, his chest rise, wanting to feel him _exist_, the way she so enjoys doing late at night behind closed doors, but she can't. His uniform is too thick, and for that matter so is her dress, and all she can feel is fabric, layers and layers of fabric. She wants to peel it off him, slowly rediscover every part of him, memorise every line for the thousandth time, but she can't do it here.

Instinctively, she pulls back from him and turns towards the house, but somehow, Elizabeth finds she does not want to go back in right this minute. She's not sure whether Will has gone or not, and anyway, the idea of being inside suddenly seems terribly constricting. James seems to sense her thoughts – or perhaps was even thinking the same thing himself – because he steps up behind her, settling his hands on her waist.

"Why don't we take the _Lady Jane_ out for a while?" he suggests, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down her spine. She lays her own hands over his for a moment, unwilling to break the contact immediately, and then, without a word, takes his hand and leads him down to the gate.

The _Lady Jane_ is his third wedding present to her, behind Will's rescue and the customary dresses and jewels. He presented it to her some weeks after their wedding, and she treasures it as the first solid indication she had that not only did her husband tolerate her wilfulness, he loved it and did not want to see it restrained. It is a small fishing skiff, barely bigger than a longboat, that she can take out on her own whenever it pleases her. In fact, she does not take it out very often, preferring to simply swim in her slip when she feels the need for the ocean, but on occasion, she does enjoy putting up the specially built canopy and letting the little boat rock her while she reads. The _Lady_ is moored in a small, isolated lagoon, some three quarters of a mile behind their house. It is largely ignored by most residents of Port Royal, being far too shallow and rocky for anything bigger than Elizabeth's skiff to make use of it.

Hand in hand, they make their way down the dusty, ill-used path in silence. The day is so clear and the lagoon so sheltered that the sail is of no use, and so they row, each taking an oar, until they are far enough out that no one will be able to make out anything worthy of gossip. When James drops the anchor, his hand accidentally brushes hers as he pulls back from the little wheel, and after that, it is hard to stop touching. They undress each other awkwardly, little by little, because in order to do it quickly, they would have to let go, and that is not a viable option. When they are finally rid of their clothes, they wrap themselves in each other and fall to the floor, stretching out on the cushions which Elizabeth has previously provided for her reading expeditions.

How long they are out there, Elizabeth isn't sure. Despite the thin canopy, James burns his back and Elizabeth the tops of her feet under the fearsome Caribbean sun, but neither of them care. Running her finger lazily along the line of her husband's jaw, Elizabeth can't help but marvel at the change in him. Before today, she had always thought herself lucky, thoroughly satisfied with their intimate life, but she wonders now that she never noticed how he has been holding himself back. With the shackles of his private fears unlocked, a shadow is gone from his eyes and he is free, liberated to be with her in all the ways he has always wanted, not just the ways he suspects she desires. After he spends a good fifteen minutes nuzzling her shoulder with a lopsided grin and a look of utter contentment on his face, she can't help but feel a pang of guilt that he has apparently not felt entitled to enjoy her shoulder before. She pushes it away as she strokes his long, dark hair; it will do neither of them any good now.

Afternoon turns to evening, which brings dusk. They don't have a lantern, and so they reluctantly pull themselves upright, needing to dress while there is still enough light to see by. The Caribbean stars light their way home, and as she walks up the dusty path to their home, James's arm draped heavily around her shoulders, Elizabeth realises that this is quite possibly the happiest she has ever felt.

**

The next day, they do not get out of bed until noon. After they have lunched, James goes up to the Fort, and Elizabeth goes to her sewing room to retrieve the book she had been looking for when she discovered Will. It is there, sitting on the table where she left it, but when she picks it up, something falls from between the pages and flutters to the ground.

She smiles as she reads the note. Will apologises for any trouble he may have caused her, which of course he would, being Will, she thinks to herself, and has written a long letter to the Commodore, explaining his part in the situation and apologising repeatedly, in as many forms as he apparently could think of. It makes Elizabeth laugh. He also leaves a contact address, in the hope that she will write to him. Elizabeth thinks she will, but not this week.


End file.
